Item Details

Item No. M10

"The day Sun in Father's last-night story was still winking on the edge of the wall.  We were all sitting in the house bringing out the seeds of pomegranate; at once a neighbour came with news that soon the bowl my mother was looking for in all those years to set behind the liliaceous mountains of the plain.  My father had looked in every marketplace for that bowl.  For years, all our neighbours drank water in the memory of that bowl.  We did not hesitate to rush to the rooftop.  Our hands were red from the pomegranate juice.  Mother, who had reached the rooftop before everyone else, shouted, 'Look!' and her voice became a memoir in the bending alley of clouds.  The red bowl pulsed like an unripe imagination behind the lines and dots of the mountains.  Within a moment, Mother went down the wooden ladder and brought up the seeds of pomegranate from the rooftop.  Then shed the seeds toward the lily of the mountains and herself flew behind the mountains with her white chador.

This is the thousandth year that pomegranate pills are mourning by the copper tray and Lady Sun tries hard to imitate my mother's image; and when anybody knocks at the door, my father sits up at once and says, 'Open the door! Sedigheh has arrived.' "